


Tombstone

by sheriffwaco



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cowboys AU, Dead John Winchester and Mary Winchester, Doc Holliday!Castiel, F/M, Gambling, Gun Violence, Heavy Drinking, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mutual Pining, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Smoking, Wyatt Earp!Dean, this cas is kind of like endverse!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheriffwaco/pseuds/sheriffwaco
Summary: Dean Winchester has just moved back to his hometown of Tombstone, Arizona after 3 years. He returns to find a familiar face, and his beloved hometown in chaos.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 6





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Ok so this is my first serious fic!! I hope it goes over well, I will update tags as I go along :)  
> This is very loosely based on the movie, if you've seen the film you probably know how this is gonna go down; but this is more original content than it will be scenes from the movie. :D

**TOMBSTONE, ARIZONA**  
**MARCH 2nd, 1883**  
**12:47 P.M.**

It's one hell of a train ride from Dodge City to Tombstone. The stiff train seats aren't doing any favors for the dull ache in Dean Winchester's back, and he's about 15 seconds away from shooting the baby crying two rows ahead of him- but he doesn't. Not when he's only five and a half hours from Tombstone. From Sam. A smile subtly twists its way onto Dean's face. _Sam._

Sam Winchester has always been a pain in Dean's ass. From the day their parents were shot and killed in 1861, and they moved in to their Uncle Bobby's, Dean practically raised the little shit. Not so much of a little shit anymore, considering the last time Dean saw Sam he was a good 4 inches taller than him. It's been around 3 years since Dean was in Tombstone. Since he was called out to Dodge City for a clean up and decided to stick around. Dodge was fucking miserable, and Dean hated it, but he was doing the right thing. He was helping good people in a good city. What he had to do doesn't matter. He starts to zone out as he gazes at the blurry trees on the other side of his train window. He wonders what it will be like to see Sam for the first time in 3 years, how different he'll be. He wonders how different the town is, and how all his old friends are, if they're still alive. That thought sends a sinking feeling to his stomach.

...

Dean uncomfortably wakes up to the sound of train wheels screeching, scrunching his face as he looks out his window and sees familiar scenery for the first time in a long time. He turns his head to peer through the window across the aisle and sees a train station platform, and the city of Tombstone behind it. _Shit._ The train comes to a complete stop, and Dean stands up from his seat, stretching his back and arms thoroughly before making any other movements. He straightens his coat with shaky hands, and grabs his bag from the overhead compartment.

The step off the train onto the platform feels like coming home. "Home" has always been a foreign concept in Dean's mind- but as he looks out at the town and breathes in the warm air that surrounds him, he knows this is his home. This is where he belongs.

And he doesn't make four steps before raising his head to see Sam Winchester waiting for him, with a grin covering his entire face, and a pretty blonde girl behind him.  
"Sammy?" Dean laughs, dropping his bag at his feet, and pulling his brother into a hug.

Sam, who is now a good 5 inches taller than his older brother, laughs into the hug before pulling away to look at Dean. His face is bruised, and there's a slightly healed gash at the top of his hairline.

"What the hell happened to you?" Sam says light heartedly, his eyes dancing around Dean's face.

"Bad haircut." Dean lies, as he turns his attention to the blonde behind Sam. "Hello." He says drawn outedly, eyeing her up and down. She's wearing a poufy beige dress, and the matching beige sun hat with lace trim on her head has endless strings of curly blonde hair flowing out from underneath it. She's cute. Way too cute for Sam.

"This is Jessica, my girlfriend." Sam says pointedly, as Jessica extends her hand to Dean, which he takes and shakes lightly.

"Sam's told me all about you. It's nice to finally see you in person." She says with a beaming smile on her face.

"Come on, Dean. I want you to see Bobby." Sam says, patting him on the back as Dean picks up his bag.

The three walk through the town's dusty streets, as Dean looks around at the wooden storefronts and the mountains in the distance behind the town. 

"Dean Winchester?" 

Sam and Jessica stop, and Dean lets out a sigh as he turns around to see a man walking towards them.

"You must be Dean Winchester." The man says as he gets closer to them. Dean can see a silver badge on his suit jacket.

"Depends on who's asking." Dean narrows his eyes at the man.

"My name is John Mills. I'm the County Marshall here." He says, extending a hand to Dean, who purses his lips but shakes the man's hand anyways.

"I recognized your brother Sam here and I heard that you were coming back into town. I can see the resemblance between you two."

Dean scoffs. Sam is about 6'4" with slicked back brown hair that reaches his shoulders, accompanied by prominent sideburns. He has pointy facial features and small eyes, which drastically contrast Dean's short hair, larger green eyes, pouty lips, and freckles. They don't look that similar. Especially to a stranger.

"What do you want?" Dean asks wearily.

"I know what happened in Dodge."

Dean's heart sinks to his stomach.

"We've got a bit of the same problem here in Tombstone. Band of misfits running around here, they call themselves the Cowboys."

"Stupid name." Dean responds flatly.

"This is serious, Winchester. They're killing people, stealing... it's bad. We need a sheriff. A good one. One we have now ain't worth shit, and I know you have experience in cleaning up a town." John sighs. "I'm asking you to step in."

Dean scoffs. "I'm not working for anyone, especially a sheriff. I'm retired. See 'ya around, Marshall." he replies, and continues walking without giving John time to respond.

Continuing their walk, Dean notices at least three buildings with "SALOON" signs, on just one street. 

"What's with all the saloons?" Dean asks, elbowing Sam.

"It's one of the only ways people have to make money around here. All people are interested in is liquor and gambling. These saloons are making money hand over fist- all of them except The Oriental. It's a mess over there." Sam explains.

"The Oriental? Bobby's place? Why the hell is he not making money?"

"Why don't you go in and ask him yourself?" Sam replies after a moment, as he stops walking and nods to the old green building across the street. "Go catch up with Bobby, Jess and I will meet you after." He says, patting Dean's shoulder and walking off with Jessica on his arm.

Dean makes his way across the street, dodging horse drawn carriages and a herd of cattle pushing its way through the streets, being controlled by several men on horses. 

Dean walks up the steps of The Oriental and pushes the doors open. He glances around the inside of the saloon. The place is dusty, with dark green curtains, and elegant woodwork on the bar and on the building's walls. There's maybe twelve dining tables, each adorned with a small glass vase filled with pale yellow flowers. It's a fancy place, and one of the nicer-looking saloons in town. The building is two stories high, with an apartment on the second floor. Dean's eyes finally land on Bobby Singer shining a glass behind the bar, and Dean smiles as Bobby glances up and sees him.

"Dean, you son of a bitch!" Bobby laughs as he walks hurriedly around the bar to greet Dean with a hug.

"Hey, Bobby." Dean reciprocates the almost-too-tight embrace. "How the hell are you, man?"

"Doing well, except for that stupid bastard behind the poker table running off all my business."

Dean glances over to the poker table in the corner of the bar, and sees a drunken looking man working the table.

"He giving you trouble?" Dean asks, nodding his head at the man.

Bobby nods. "Name's Crowley. Started working the table about two months ago, always drunk, shouts and screams at people. I can't run him off. Saved him for you."  
Dean nods and makes his way over to the table.

"Looking to play, doll?" The man says, glancing up at Dean. There are two uncomfortable looking patrons sitting at the table in front of them.

"No. Actually, you're sitting in my chair." Dean responds, looking Crowley in the eyes. 

"Do we have a problem?" Crowley says, raising out of his chair and inching closer to Dean's face. Dean can feel the man's breath on his face. He can smell it too.

So he doesn't dignify the man with a response, and punches him directly on the side of his face. Hard.

He stumbles, grabbing onto the arms of his chair and pulling himself back up.

"You gonna do something? Or just stand there and bleed?" Dean says, cocking his head as Crowley touches his own face and looks down at his fingers, coated with blood that is now trickling from his mouth. He raises a hand in an effort to return the punch, but Dean catches his fist, flashing him a smile before twisting his arm as Crowley lets out a cry and a _CRACK_ echoes throughout the saloon. Dean knees him in the side, and he falls to the ground. Dean picks him up by his belt and the collar of his jacket, and drags him out the doors of the saloon, tossing him on the ground.

Dean re-enters the saloon, and looks up at Bobby who has returned behind the bar.

"Mind if I take the apartment upstairs?" Dean says casually, as if the entire previous encounter never happened.  
Bobby nods with a grin. "Cleaned it up for you last night."

```

Dean drops his bag on the twin sized bed, and looks around at the small room. There's a window which overlooks the city, which is nice, and there's a simple bedside table with a matching dresser and mirror on the other wall. He walks over to the mirror, and wipes it with his hand before daring to look at himself. He runs his fingers over the bruises that cover his cheekbones, and touches the healing wound on his hairline a little too hard. The bags under his eyes are more prominent than the last time he saw himself. Sam was right to ask what happened, he looks rough, even though his last real fight was over two weeks ago. Dean lets out a breath and turns to glance at his room. He eyes the bed, which looks incredibly tempting at the moment, considering he just rode a train for 7 hours, but he knows he should go find Sam and Jessica, and let them know he's got somewhere to stay.

Dean walks carefully down the rickety stairs that lead to the saloon, and nods at Bobby before exiting through the front doors. He notices about six people in the saloon already. _Huh. Guy must've really sucked._

Dean steps outside the saloon and eyes the town again, spotting Sam and Jessica standing outside a building across town. They look like they're talking to someone propped up against one of the columns of the building. Dean narrows his eyes as he walks down the steps of The Oriental, and Sam turns and spots him. He waves at Dean, gesturing him over. Dean makes his way over to them, and the person propped up against the building starts to become less of a blurry figure. Dean sees that it's a man wearing a white button up shirt and black pants. He has a brown leather holster strapped obviously across his torso, on top of a dark red vest. 

As Dean finally approaches them, he makes sense of the man's facial features. He's tan, and has jet black hair. Dean suddenly realizes this man is no stranger. It's Castiel Novak. 


	2. The Joker

**DODGE CITY, KANSAS**

**FEBRUARY 15th 1882**

**4:45 P.M.**

"I've got $500 in." 

  
Castiel peers over his cards at the man sitting across the table from him. 

  
"$500? Must be a damn good hand you have there, sir." Castiel says cockily, eyeing the pile of money in the middle of the table. 

  
The man purses his lips. "Are you in or out?" 

  
"Well," Castiel drawls, "I may be deranged but I'll just have to call." he says, laying his cards down in front of him. Four kings. 

  
The man across from him jerks up, slamming his fists on the table. 

  
"YOU SON OF A BITCH-"

  
"Whoa, calm down there." Castiel says, quickly standing up and extending a cautious hand. "Are we cross?" he asks, moving his jacket to display a gun in his holster.   
The man stiffens up. 

  
"Your guns don't scare me. Just take your money and get the hell out of here. I'm tired of listening to your whore mouth." 

  
Castiel gasps and places a hand on his chest in mock shock.

  
"Did you hear that Alfie?" he says, turning to the small, terrified-looking young man sitting to his left. "What a horrible thing to say." 

  
Castiel stands up turns quickly and pulls out two guns, one in each hand and points them at the man across the table, cocking them.

  
"Are you really so stupid?" Castiel asks the man, who had been trying to draw his own gun while Castiel was distracted.

  
Without looking, Castiel points the gun in his left hand at the bartender across the room, who was reaching underneath the bar. "You reach for that gun and I will burn you down." He says, turning his head to look at him.

  
Castiel lowers the gun pointed at the bartender and pulls out a small brown sack, sliding all the money on the table into it. He backs towards the entrance of the saloon, keeping his gun raised, only stopping to add three stacks of bills to his sack from another card table by the door. He puts his remaining gun away, and raises a cigarette to his lips, lighting it with a match.

  
"Well, good evening gentlemen." Castiel says, with his cigarette hanging on the side of his mouth. He picks up his sack and backs out of the saloon doors. As soon as he's out of sight he spits his cigarette out and steps on it with his shoe, and then makes quick work of untying his horse and riding off.

**TOMBSTONE, ARIZONA**

**PRESENT DAY**

**7:04 P.M.**

Dean can't believe his eyes. His brain finally registers that that is in fact Castiel Novak. _His_ Castiel Novak. _The_ Castiel Novak he met in Dodge City- and here he is, hanging onto a pole in Tombstone, talking to Sam and Jessica. 

  
_What the fuck._

  
"Dean!" Sam says, patting Dean's shoulder as he finally approaches. "This is our friend Castiel." 

  
Dean's eyes jot to Castiel, and then immediately to the ground. Cas doesn't look his best. His eyes are red, his face is covered in sweat, and he looks thinner. 

"Why Crowley Macleod!" Castiel exclaims suddenly. 

_What the fuck?_

  
Dean doesn't register whats happening until he realizes Castiel is looking to his right, to the side of the saloon. He turns to look and sees Crowley, with blood still on his mouth, carrying a shotgun pointed at him. 

  
Crowley stops at the sound of Castiel's voice, and he lowers his shotgun. 

  
"...Castiel?" Crowley says, taken aback.

  
"Where _are_ you going with that shotgun?" Castiel drawls, pushing himself off the column and walking down the steps of the saloon. 

  
"I didn't know you were back in town." Crowley stutters.

  
Castiel flashes a tight lipped smile at Dean, walking closer to him-ignoring Crowley.

  
"Hello, Dean." 

  
"Cas." Dean can't help it. "How the hell are you?"

  
Sam glances between the two of them, visibly confused.

  
"Dean, I am _rolling_." 

  
"Dean.. Dean Winchester?" Crowley buts in, staring in awe at Dean, "You're Dean Winchester?" 

  
"Oh, Crowley. My apologies, I forgot you were still here. You may go now." Castiel says, making a 'shoo' motion at Crowley. 

  
"Just leave that shotgun." Dean adds. Crowley lays the gun on the ground. 

  
"Thank you." Crowley says carefully as he turns to leave, glancing back several times at them. 

  
"Wait... you two know each other?" Sam asks, gesturing between Dean and Castiel.

  
Castiel's face twists into another smile. 

  
"I- I met Castiel in Dodge." Dean explains.

  
"Seriously? You never mentioned him in your telegrams." 

  
"How kind." Castiel states sarcastically. 

  
Dean shoots a glare at Castiel. 

  
"Story for another day, Sam." Dean says, patting his brother's back.

"Sam and I were just discussing the play at the theatre tonight. 8:00." Castiel says, changing the subject. 

"Oh! Dean, you have to come with us, we're all going. It'll be wonderful." Jessica says cheerily.

Dean hates plays. 

"You're _all_ going? Cas, you too?" Dean asks. 

Castiel nods, raising a cigarette to his lips. 

A moment passes. 

"Hell, why not. Plays are alright, I need some kind of entertainment." Dean says, defeated. 

Jessica squeals in excitement, squeezing Sam's arm. 

"We have to go home quick and change, but we'll see you two at the theater at 8. We'll wait by the doors for you!" She says, pulling Sam away. He waves sympathetically before turning around to walk with Jessica, leaving Castiel and Dean alone in front of the building. 

"So. What the hell are you doing here? Don't fucking lie, either." Dean asks Castiel sternly.

"I heard about the Cowboy situation, figured I could help. Got here about a month ago." He takes another drag from his cigarette, "And by the kindness of fate I met your baby brother at the Oriental."

Dean jots his eyes around the area. No one's around. 

"Man, it's good to see you, Cas." He breathes out, pulling Castiel into a hug. 

Castiel laughs as Dean pulls away, patting his back. 

"I can't believe Dean Winchester is going to the theatre tonight. With _me?_ Oh, it's a dream come true." Castiel says playfully, fanning himself with his right hand.

"Shut the hell up," Dean says, failing to fight back a smile, "I'm not going with you. I'm going with Sam and Jess. You're just tagging along because God hates me." 

Castiel drops his cigarette out on the ground and flattens it with his foot. "Where are you staying, Dean?" he asks. 

"Like I'd tell you." 

"The Oriental, I bet. That little apartment?" Castiel pushes. Dean sighs again, defeated. "Ah, it is." Castiel smiles. "Good to know." 

An awkward silence falls on the two of them. 

"Alright listen, I'm going to rest for an hour before the play. 'm exhausted. See you at the theatre, Cas." Dean says, ending the silence and patting Castiel on the shoulder.

"See you then." 


	3. The Beginning

**DODGE CITY, KANSAS**

**FEBRUARY 18th 1882**

**4:45 P.M.**

_"DEAN! GET DOWN!"_

Dean ducks immediately behind a wooden palette, and several bullets fly right above his head. He raises his gun above the palette, shooting blindly towards the bandit. Dodge fucking _sucks_. Dean doesn't want to kill people. He's never wanted to kill people. In situations like this, however, there's really no other choice. It'd be pretty hard to try to talk down a bandit that's under orders to rob a business for some sick higher purpose. But Dean will try anyways. 

"Listen, man, I don't want to kill you!" Dean yells, as his partner Benny ironically fires his gun towards the man. "You've already got the money, just get the hell out of here before someone else gets hurt!"

"You think I'm gonna let you walk?" The bandit yells, firing his gun again. "I fucking hate men like you! You really think you're some kind of goddamn hero, huh?" A shot fires. "Well guess what, I-" 

Suddenly, Dean hears a shotgun fire, followed by complete silence. He shoots a look at Benny, who's ducked behind a carriage. Benny shrugs. Dean takes one for the team and turns his head, peering above the pallet to see the bandit on the ground with a dark red stain spreading between his shoulder blades. _Damn._ He raises a little higher and sees a man on a horse, holding a shotgun. He nods at Benny and makes the first move. He fully stands up, gun drawn, to face the man who just saved him. 

"Not a very kind first impression to make, Winchester." The man drawls, lowering his shotgun. "You can put that gun away, I'm not going to hurt you."

Dean lowers his gun and jots his eyes to Benny, still behind the carriage. 

"Tell your partner to come out, too. You're both safe." The man says, noticing Dean's movements. 

Benny reluctantly appears from behind the carriage, and stands before the man alongside Dean.

"How did you know my name?" Dean asks sternly. 

The man on the horse laughs. "Who _doesn't_ know your name, boy? I've heard endless stories about you. The killer, Dean Winchester. Fastest hand in the west." 

Dean sighs. "Who the hell are you and how did you find us?" He asks, ignoring the mention of his reputation. 

"First of all, you're welcome for saving your pitiful lives. Second of all.." the man pauses. "My name is Castiel Novak. And I'm here _helping_ with the _cleanup_ , thank you very much." 

Dean straightens up at that name. He's heard stories about Castiel, both good and bad things. By the way Benny's body language changes, Dean senses he's heard of Castiel also.

"I see you've heard of me." Castiel says through a cocky smile, "Good. Then you really know I'm not going to hurt you." He says with a wink towards Dean. 

**TOMBSTONE, ARIZONA**

**MARCH 2nd**

**7:56 P.M.**

_CRACK!_

_CRACK!_

_CRACK!_

Dean is jolted awake by the sound of something hard hitting his window. He struggles to throw the covers off himself, raising out of bed to look out the window to the dim outside. 

_CRACK!_

A small object hits the window right in front of his face and Dean jolts back, hearing a burst of laughter from the street below. Dean opens the window and looks down to see Castiel in a long black trench coat, with a pile of rocks in his hand.

"Dearest, it's time for the play! 7:56!" Castiel yells to Dean, who's head is now sticking out of the window. 

_Shit. The play._

"I'll be right down!" Dean calls.

"-and shut the _HELL_ up!" he says after, in a much more hushed tone. This only causes Castiel to burst into another fit of laughter. 

Dean hurriedly pulls a brown trench coat from his bag, which lay still unpacked on the floor. He throws on his boots, and hurriedly rushes down the small set of stairs. 

He pushes through the doors of the Oriental, to meet Castiel, who is holding out an arm for Dean to take. Dean hits his arm down and looks around the area urgently. 

"What the hell, Cas?" Dean asks in a still-hushed tone, "You tryin' to get us both killed?" 

"You? Never. Me?" Castiel pauses, titling his head in thought. "Maybe." 

Dean rolls his eyes. "Just shut up and come on." He says, making his way towards the theatre down the street. Castiel follows, sticking his hands in his coat pockets. 

"Would never expect you to be so cold, Winchester." Castiel says, lighting a cigarette. 

They arrive at the theater in less than a minute, and see Jessica and Sam standing to the right of the doors, just as she said they would be. Jessica spots them, jumping up and waving. 

"Oh, boys! I'm so glad you're here!" she says, pulling them both into a hug. "Let's go inside now, it's about to start. We have seats on the balcony!" She says, pulling Castiel by the hand into the theater as Sam and Dean follow. 

Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam. "Balcony seats, huh?" 

Sam smiles at Dean, and then at Jessica and Castiel in front of them. "Anything that makes her this happy is worth every cent." 

Dean sighs dramatically. "Dammit, you've gone soft on me, Sammy." 

They make their way to their balcony seats, which is a small, more private section of the balcony with four seats and a table in the middle. They sit down and Castiel beckons for a waiter. 

"Whiskey for the table, please." Castiel says once one arrives. "Jessica, what would you like?" He asks, raising his eyebrows at her. 

Jessica scoffs. "I'll be having whiskey, also." She says pointedly to the waiter. 

Sam raises his eyebrows at Jessica and breaks into a smile. Dean laughs, and the waiter walks off. 

The lights in the theatre start to flash, indicating the play is about to start. The waiter arrives at their table with a bottle of unlabeled whiskey and four glasses. Castiel pours himself a glass, downing it immediately. Dean looks to Castiel next to him, and notices his state in the dim lights of the theatre. He looks the same as earlier: damp, weak, and pale. 

"Are you alright?" Dean asks him in a whisper. 

"Dandy." Castiel says, shooting Dean a tight lipped smile.

Dean purses his lips and the theatre goes completely dark. A couple of people in the floor seats shoot guns towards the ceiling, which doesn't surprise Dean, but makes him jump regardless. 

He mostly zones out during the play, but he makes out a few parts of it. There's someone dressed as Satan, and some guy is selling his soul. There's a few nice dramatic instrumental pieces being played on the piano, and it's a well put together play, but Dean just can't stay focused on it. His thoughts are uncontrollably filled by the feeble dark-haired man sitting next to him. Dean feels like he should be shot. _It's nothing WEIRD,_ he tells himself. He's just worried about the declining state of his closest friend. That's all. 

Dean is jolted back into reality by the raising of the lights and the sudden round of applause. He follows suit, standing up and clapping his hands. He hears Sam whistle behind him, and guns are fired towards the ceiling once more. 

Jessica and Sam leave first, and Dean and Castiel follow. Dean keeps his eyes on the ground, unintentionally memorizing the pattern of the carpeting. They make their way to the exit doors, and Jessica turns around to face Dean and Castiel. 

"Well boys, the night is still young. Shall we go to The Oriental?" She asks, looking between them. 

Dean looks at Castiel before answering. He looks as if he's struggling to stand up. 

"Absolutely, ma'am." Castiel replies, to Jessica's excitement. He turns to look at Dean. "Join us for a few drinks before retiring to your room, will you?" He says as they start to walk down the street.

"Why not. I could run the poker table for a while." 

"Excellent." Castiel replies, lighting another cigarette. 

```

The four walk into The Oriental, as Dean holds the door open for all of them. The place is pretty busy. There is another bartender behind the bar alongside Bobby, and most of the dining tables are occupied. Dean makes his way towards the poker table, as Castiel stops at the bar, coming back with two drinks. He hands one of the two to Dean as he gets settled behind the table. Dean nods in appreciation as he downs the shot, wincing as the liquid burns down his throat. Castiel hovers behind Dean, watching him deal cards. 

Several patrons have made their way to the poker table, one man even hands Dean a bill, asking for an autograph for his wife. Dean signs it anyways, even though it's in extremely bad taste. He's not a celebrity. He's just a guy that has to shoot shit sometimes, and he just happens to be pretty good at it. As he hands the signed bill back to the man, it's snatched by a much smaller, nastier looking man next to him.

"Dean Winchester, huh?" The man asks in a disgustingly nasally voice. "I've heard of you." 

"I'm retired." Dean says flatly, becoming increasingly aware of the easily accessible gun in the man's holster. 

"Good." the man smiles, showcasing crooked yellow teeth. "Yeah, that's real good."

"And you must be Castiel Novak." a much bigger man with a handlebar mustache pipes in, addressing Castiel, who's still hovering behind Dean. 

Castiel downs another shot of whiskey. "That's the rumor."

"Are you retired too?" he asks mockingly.

"No, not me. I'm in my prime." Castiel states, feeling a bead of sweat glide down the side of his face.

"Yeah, you look it." the man replies, looking him up and down. 

Dean raises his eyes to Cas, who coughs a painful sounding dry cough. 

"You must be Cain." Castiel says to the man with the mustache, dodging the insult. "Look, Dean," Castiel starts, tapping his hand on Dean's shoulder, "Cain Omundson, the deadliest pistol since Wild Bill, they say. What do you think, should I hate him?" he asks, looking down at Dean. Dean instinctively draws his hand closer to the shotgun underneath the poker table, just in case this goes awry. "I just don't know.." Castiel continues, pausing to take another shot of whiskey, "There's just something about him. Reminds me of...me." He laughs. "Now I know I hate him." Cain draws his hand towards the gun on his holster, and the entire saloon seems to have gone quiet. 

"Be on your way, gentlemen." a voice pipes in from afar. "We don't want any trouble here." As the voice comes closer Dean realizes it's John Mills, and rolls his eyes subtly. 

Alistair and Cain make note of the silver badge on John's chest and depart, not before shooting Dean and Castiel each a look. 

John props his arms on the poker table, looking down at the cards and money adorning the table.

"Cain Omundson, huh?" Dean asks John, who responds by pursing his lips and nodding. "Who was the other guy?" He asks again, dealing a new round of cards. 

"Alistair Rolston." 

The name feels familiar.

"You stay clear of him, Dean." John warns. "He's a cruel son of a bitch."

Dean doesn't respond, but glances at Castiel, who's downing yet another shot of whiskey. 

Just what Dean needs. More trouble. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so Cain and Alistair don't have last names on the show so I just used their actor's last names. Just wanted to add this note to avoid any confusion :)


End file.
